


The Young Cub

by RivanWarrioress



Series: The Young Cub [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 13:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivanWarrioress/pseuds/RivanWarrioress
Summary: With Jaime captured by Robb Stark, and Tywin busy running the campaign against the North, Lyra Lannister, the Kingslayer's Daughter, affectionately known as the Young Cub, is sent to King's Landing.Follows on from the events of The Marriage of the Kingslayer, and starts off during season two of Game of Thrones





	1. Tyrion I

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. All recognizable characters, locations, events, ect, are the property of George R.R. Martin and HBO

Standing at the front of the Red Keep, the badge of the hand of the King shining on his chest, and flanked by Bronn and Podrick, Tyrion watched as the small procession of Lannister guards rode into the courtyard, his gazed fixed upon the smallest member of the group.

 

Now a girl of 13, Lyra didn’t look much like a Lannister, but she didn’t look much like a Mormont either.  Her long hair could either be described as dark blonde, or light brown, depending on the light, or how much time she had recently spent outside.  Her hair was wavy, much like Cersei’s, unlike both of Lyra’s parents, who had straighter hair.  She had inherited Jaime’s green eyes, and there was something distinctively Lannister about her cheeks and jaw line.  Her nose, however, was small, and reminded Tyrion vividly of Dacey Mormont.  Despite both of her parents being tall, Lyra had always been small for her age, although she’d surpassed Tyrion in height a few months before her eleventh name day.

 

Tyrion had not seen Lyra since before he’d journeyed up to Winterfell.  Lyra had wanted to accompany him, but Tywin had wanted to keep her in the South, with him, and Cersei had agreed.  Lyra had been bitterly disappointed, but she had concealed it well.  Tyrion had only noticed because he’d spent so much time with her when she was growing up.

 

The root of her disappointment was two things.  Firstly, she had wanted to spend time with Jaime.  Jaime had been a distant, although not uncaring father to Lyra.  Whenever Cersei travelled to Casterely Rock to visit, Jaime would accompany her, and spend time with Lyra then.  Lyra had on numerous occasions spent a few months living in the Capital with the Royal Family as a guest throughout her youth, and Jaime had spent whatever free time he had with his daughter during those months, but it had never been enough, for Lyra and for Jaime.  The trip North would have offered another opportunity for them to spend time together.

 

The other reason for Lyra’s desire to go North was her mother.  Tyrion had made sure that Dacey Mormont didn’t become a forbidden topic of discussion at Casterly Rock, like his own poor mother had, and he’d shared as much information as he could with Lyra.  Lady Maege Mormont had visited the Rock a few times during Lyra’s childhood to check on her young granddaughter, but Lyra had never been allowed to journey North to Bear Island, to see where her mother grew up, or to meet her aunts Alysane, Jorelle, and Lyanna.  The isolation from her mother’s family had made Lyra highly curious about them, and the expedition north with the royal family would have answered many of those questions, even if Lyra didn’t get to meet any members of the Mormont family while she was at Winterfell.

 

Tyrion was fond of Lyra, just as he was fond of all of his nephews and nieces (Joffrey being the possible exception).  She was more intelligent than Jaime, and observant, but she didn’t have Tywin and Cersei’s ruthless ambition, and she didn’t have their pride either.  While at times in her childhood she had been known to make some rather foolish choices, not backing down from a sparring match with Joffrey was one such occasion, Lyra was kind, and considerate to those less fortunate than herself, including Tyrion.  What Lyra had, it turned out, inherited was the stubbornness and determination of both of her parents...as well as, to the surprise of everyone, their skill with weaponry.

 

True to his promise to Dacey as his wife had lay dying, when Lyra had been six years old, and Jaime had been at Casterly Rock, Tyrion’s brother had taken his daughter aside one day and asked if she wanted to learn how to wield a sword, just like he and her mother had.  Lyra, who had grown up watching the knights training in the courtyard wistfully, had eagerly agreed.  In the months that had followed right up until the day before Jaime had returned to King’s Landing with Cersei and the children, Jaime had taken two wooden training swords, along with Lyra, out onto a private terrace, and begun to teach her how to use a sword.  The master at arms at Casterly rock had continued Lyra’s lessons In Jaime’s absence, although not every day, and certainly not with the same commitment that Jaime had.  Tywin had not agreed with the training, but he’d let it happen, if it was only because Jaime had persuaded him to allow it.  Tyrion was sure that, if had been him asking, then the training would never have been permitted.

 

One thing that had surprised Tyrion, up until this point, was that Lyra had never been betrothed to anyone.  There had been rumours, of course.  Robb Stark had been one such candidate, as had young Robin Arryn or Loras Tyrell, or even Renly Baratheon, but nothing had ever been committed to by Jaime, Tywin, or anyone else.  Tyrion knew that his father was hesitant to send Jaime’s only child, and the only one out of Tywin’s grandchildren to carry the Lannister name, off to marry into some other great house, when she was the one who might need to carry on the Lannister name.  If that was the case, it was likely that Lyra would be married to a second son, or to a lesser house, permitting her, and her children to continue to carry on the Lannister name, and eventually inherit Casterly Rock, preventing it from falling into Tyrion’s hands. 

 

With the outbreak of the war of the five kings, however, things were far less certain.  Robb Stark and Renly were both no longer suitable options, and the Tyrells had openly declared for Renly, so Loras was also no longer considered appropriate.  Tyrion had long held doubts about Renly and Loras anyway, as he’d heard rumours that they both preferred to bed their own sex.  Lysa Arryn would never consent to her precious son marrying Lyra (and Tyrion was sure that neither Tywin, nor Jaime were keen on that match to begin with, even if it was solely because of Robin Arryn’s delicate health.)   

 

Tyrion watched as Lyra dismounted her horse, scratching the beast affectionately between the eyes, before she approached Tyrion, her riding clothes splattered with mud from the journey from Casterly Rock.  Lyra was very much at home on the back of a horse, and Tyrion knew that she would never have consented to the use of a wheel house for the trip from Casterly Rock to the Capitol.  Without Tywin there to force the issue, she would have easily gotten her way.  Kevan Lannister had a soft spot for Lyra…most of the family did.

 

“Lady Lyra,” Tyrion greeted his niece with a smile and a respectfully bowed head.

 

“My Lord Hand of the King,” Lyra sank into a deep curtsey.  Tyrion felt a thrill go through him at the title, the one his father had given him, a chance to prove himself at last.

 

“How was your journey?” he inquired.

 

Lyra shrugged, “Fair, we had no trouble, although there was much evidence of the War that we beheld.”

 

“I am surprised that father arranged for you to come here, considering we are at war.” Tyrion observed, offering Lyra his hand to guide her up the stairs to the Keep.

 

“You are not the only one,” Lyra agreed, taking his hand and allowing him to guide her, “I was surprised myself.  I’m not sure how the Queen Regent would have taken the news. How have things been here?”

 

Tyrion stopped and gave Lyra a warning look, and she nodded in understanding.  Growing up Lyra and Joffrey had never gotten along.  The first time they’d met Joffrey had been cruel to his cousin, and Lyra had been too frightened of him to be anywhere near him.  As they’d gotten older things had not improved.  Joffrey had enjoyed tormenting his cousin, just as he enjoyed tormenting his brother and sister, and anyone else who he came across and decided to be cruel to.  Lyra was no longer quite so frightened of him as she had been as a small child, but she had learned to be cautious.  It was no secret at the Royal Court that Joffrey hated Lyra, a feeling that mirrored the king’s mother’s own feelings towards her niece.  It was why Tyrion questioned his father’s choice to bring Lyra here, especially now that Joffrey was King.

 

“Like that, I see,” Lyra sighed, and they continued up the stairs.

 

“You must be mindful, Lyra,” Tyrion warned, “Joffrey holds more power now than he ever held before.  He is cruel to those who anger him, or even those who have done nothing to earn his ire.  He would not hesitate to have you punished for the smallest thing.  I cannot control him as well as I would like to, so you must mind yourself.”

 

Lyra nodded, “I understand, Uncle Tyrion.  I will not poke the sleeping lion.”

 

“Good, I do not want to be the one to tell my brother and father that you are dead.”  It was only then that Bronn cleared his throat.

 

“So, are you going to introduce us to the pretty girl, or are we just going to stand here like a pair of idiots?”

 

“Ah, yes, forgive me.  Lady Lyra, allow me to introduce you to my companions, Bronn, my champion from the Vale, and my squire, Podrick Payne.  Bronn, Podrick, allow me to introduce my niece, Lady Lyra Lannister.”

 

Bronn stepped up to Lyra and took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, “M’lady,” he greeted with a small bow, “pleasure to meet another of Tyrion’s family.”

 

Lyra smiled, “It is likewise a pleasure to meet the man who ensured my uncle was safely returned to us from his captors at the Vale.  I thank you for bringing him back to us.”

 

“Hm, that’s more than I got from your father and sister,” Bronn observed thoughtfully, shooting a sideways glance at Tyrion, before Tyrion cleared his throat, and continued to guide Lyra into the Red Keep.  She would be staying in the tower of the Hand, with him, rather than in the Royal Family quarters, something Cersei had arranged, perhaps to increase the distance between Lyra and Cersei and the children.  Tyrion wasn’t going to object.

 

“Where is he?” Lyra asked as they entered the tower and began to climb to her room.

 

“In the Great hall, holding court.  I should get back there, before he…does something foolish.”

 

“I will join you shortly, I should get changed into something more appropriate.  Cersei would have a fit if I presented myself like this.”

 

“Yes.  I will leave Podrick with you to escort you once you are ready.” Tyrion acknowledged, opening the door to Lyra’s room.  A bath of hot water had already been brought up, and two handmaidens were there, ready to help Lyra wash and get dressed, ready to present herself to the court. 

 

“Thank you, Uncle Tyrion.  It is good to see you.”

 

“It is good to see you too.  I've missed you, little Cub.”

 

“And I missed you too, Uncle.”


	2. Cersei I

Sitting beside Joffrey, in the great Throne room of King’s Landing, Cersei Lannister gazed down as she watched her niece walk into the room.  It had been some time since Cersei had seen her niece, and in the time that had passed Lyra had grown from a child into a young lady.  The gown she wore was deep Lannister Red, embroidered with golden lions, narrower at the neck than Cersei normally chose, but it still showed that Lyra was beginning to become a woman, and was no longer a child.  She wore golden cord about her waist, and her sleeves were wide, draping elegantly towards the ground as she walked towards the throne, her head held high. 

 

Lyra was elder than Myrcella by just under a year, although they did not look very similar, the most obvious difference being the colour of their hair.  Still, Cersei could see some of Jaime in the newest arrival to her son’s court, as well as a great deal of the Northern whore her father and husband had seen fit to marry Jaime and be the lady of Casterly Rock.

 

Whispers had broken out amongst the assembled Lords and ladies present, and Cersei heard more than one voice whisper something akin the “the Kingslayer’s daughter.”  If Lyra heard the whispers, she didn’t react, instead sinking into a deep curtsey, her head bowed, the back of her pretty neck exposed as her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. 

 

“Your Grace,” she greeted Joffrey.

 

There was a lengthy pause, as if the entire court were holding their breath.  Cersei knew that most of them remembered that day in the gardens, the day the rivalry between Tywin Lannister’s oldest two grandchildren…between Jaime’s eldest two children, became widely known. 

 

Cersei knew that her father would be livid if Joffrey killed Lyra, but at this point, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was little Cersei could do to prevent it.  She’d been stunned when she’d been informed that Tywin wanted Lyra to be in the capitol, but then she remembered her father’s blindness.  Tywin Lannister was blind to everything about his family.  He’d been blind to her relationship to Jaime, he’d been blind to the stupidity of Robert’s idea to marry Jaime to that Mormont girl, and he was blind to the contempt that Joffrey and Lyra had for each other, and the danger he was putting his granddaughter in by just having her near Joffrey now that he was king.

 

Cersei had no love for her niece, her very existence proof that Jaime had once bedded another woman, and that another woman had carried Jaime’s child.  Not only that…Lyra was legitimate, without the stigma of being a bastard, and Jaime was free to treat her as he child…something that he did whenever they were together. 

 

In Cersei’s mind Jaime, and his seed, belonged to Cersei, and no-one else…not the Northern whore who he had been forced to marry, and not the child the union had created.  The girl herself had little pleasing about her.  She was no great beauty, not like Cersei or Myrcella, nor did Cersei find her terribly witty or clever.  She could sing, dance, embroider and do all of those things that a lady should be able to do at a level that was acceptable for someone of Lyra’s age, Cersei would concede that, but there was still something…northern…about her.  A certain wildness that the child had inherited from her mother.  It was to be expected, of course, given who her mother had been.  It was a small mercy that the she-bear had died so early in the so called “Young Cub’s” life, lest the child had learned even more bad habits.

 

Cersei allowed herself a small smile at the thought as she gazed down at the girl.  The thing that Cersei didn’t like the most about her niece, was how Jaime felt about the child.  Cersei was the centre of Jaime’s world.  She had been since birth, and even before that, but whenever Jaime was with the child…his eyes would be on her.  Doting on her, playing with her, teaching her to wield a sword, when Cersei had never been allowed.  Even when Cersei was in the room, Jaime would always go to Lyra first, and Cersei couldn’t abide that kind of favouritism against her.

 

Maybe it would be better if Joffrey ordered his cousin to be beheaded right now.  He’d proven himself capable of such acts before.  It would certainly rid Cersei of the last main reminder of Jaime’s marriage, and, well, she was sure her father would move on from the loss.

 

Cersei looked to the other side of the Throne, where Tyrion stood.  She took a moment to savour the look on his face.  Concern, fear, worry that this reunion between cousins was going to end in bloodshed.   As Cersei watched Tyrion turned his gaze towards her, and tier eyes met over the top of Joffrey’s head.

 

Sister looked at brother, and brother looked at sister, and they said nothing, communicated nothing, simply assessing each other, noting their findings, and then returning their attention to the spectacle before them.

 

Eventually Joffrey rose to his feet, and outstretched his arms, “welcome, cousin,” he greeted, his tone cheerful, “your presence brings joy to my court.”

 

The rest of the court seemed to let out the breath it had been holding in anticipation, but no-one looked particularly joyful.  Lyra Lannister, for her part, remained kneeling, her eyes still fixed on the floor.

 

“Your Grace humbles me with your kind words,” she replied.  Careful…cautious...submissive, the wild streak hidden, for the moment.

 

“Come, rise, it has been far too long since we have seen each other.”

 

Lyra rose to her feet, although she kept her gaze downcast, “I grieved to learn of your father’s passing, King Joffrey.  King Robert was a fine man, and an even greater King.  I am sure you will surpass him in the magnitude of your great deeds as King.”

 

Cersei watched Joffrey as Lyra spoke, gauging his reaction, as only his mother could.  She could almost see Joffrey’s smile growing as Lyra stroked his ego. 

 

“Thank you, cousin, for your kind words.  If only all members of our family were so respectful.”

 

“If any man was not so respectful of their King then they are a fool.”

 

Joffrey laughed, and Cersei didn’t notice the sideways look Joffrey sent towards Tyrion.

 

“Yes…yes they are cousin,” he agreed.

 

Lyra inclined her head one last time, with another deep curtsy, before she retreated back into the crowd and Cersei lost track of her niece in the mix of bodies.  The assembled nobles began to idly chatter between themselves, satisfied that there would be no excitement between the King and his cousin.  Tyrion too seemed to visibly relax.

 

“Well, that went rather well, don’t you both think?”

 

Joffrey shrugged, sitting back down on his throne.  Cersei too said nothing, and Tyrion did not push, instead offering his own bow to Joffrey, before he stepped down from the dais and walked away, off to attend some duty, Cersei didn’t care what.  It didn’t matter to her, after all. 

 

Just like Lyra’s presence.  Lyra was just another piece on the board, one of little importance, despite her name, and Cersei would not let anyone interfere with her plans…regardless of if they were family or not.


	3. Lyra I

The gardens of the Red Keep were really quite something.  Far prettier than any garden at Casterly Rock, of that Lyra was certain.  Of course, there were other things that were different about the capitol.  The oppressive heat, for one.  At Casterly Rock the wind howled off the Sunset Sea, meaning the heat was never too oppressive, but here in King’s Landing, the heat just seemed to hang in their air, as did the smell of the city.  Lyra scrunched up her nose as she leaned against the wall, gazing out at the city, and the sparklingly ocean beyond.  King’s Landing really did smell of shit, there was no way to put it politely.  Lyra couldn’t help but wonder what her uncle might one day do to improve the situation.  He’d done wonders with the sewage system at Casterly Rock, although King’s Landing was significantly larger.

 

Lyra wasn’t going to mention it.  Tyrion had enough on his plate trying to keep Joffrey on his leash, and he didn’t need her reminding Joffrey of Tyrion’s past duty of being in charge of Casterly Rock’s sewage.

 

“Lyra,” an excited voice called out, and Lyra blinked out of her thoughts, turning around, a broad smile breaking out upon her face as she spotted the owner of the voice.

 

Both of her cousins had grown taller since they had last met.  Myrcella, despite being younger, was now taller than Lyra by some amount, while Tommen was quickly growing into becoming a young man.

 

“Myrcella, Tommen,” Lyra cried out as the younger pair ran towards her, capturing her in a tight embrace.  Lyra laughed as they almost knocked her off her feet.  In the distance she could see a Kingsguard watching them, obviously assigned to protect the Prince and Princess, but she was not sure who it was.  There was once a time when she knew all of the kingsguard by sight, and would chatter away to them for hours.  Ser Barristan Selmy had been particularly fond of her, despite not liking her father overly much.  Ser Barristan had a sweet tooth, and if he came across her during his time off duty, he would often give her some candied fruit or boiled sweet.  Now Ser Barristan was gone, having quit the Kingsguard and exiling himself from Westeros, and her father was absent from his duties now as well, captured by Robb Stark.

 

“It’s so good to see you,” Myrcella excitedly told her, “so much has happened since we last saw each other.”

 

“It has,” Lyra agreed, “I was very sorry to hear about your father.”

 

“Thank you,” Tommen replied, “we were very sad about it, but at least we still have mother.”

 

“She’s been busy, of cause, now that Joffrey is King, but she still spends time with us every day,’ Myrcella offered, “we have dinner with her every day, and sometimes Lady Sansa is there too, as our guest.  She is to marry Joffrey soon.”

 

“Joffrey is fighting her brother, and he might kill him, but I don’t think that would be very nice for Lady Sansa.”

 

“No, I can’t imagine it would be very nice for her,” Lyra agreed, “I can’t imagine any of this would be very nice for her.”

 

“But she’ll get to be Queen,” Myrcella frowned, “I thought she wanted that.”

 

“Maybe she did, once,” Lyra conceded, “but would you like to be married to someone who ordered your father be executed in front of you, regardless of whether or not your father was a traitor.  Would you like to live in a castle where you didn’t know who you could trust, or even if you could trust anyone?  Would you like to be trapped, friendless, so far from home?  Even if I wanted to be Queen, Lady Sansa’s position would not be one I would be happy in.”

 

Myrcella’s frown deepened, “I…I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

 

Lyra rested her hand on Myrcella’s shoulder.  Cersei had protected her youngest two children from the realities of the world, but Lyra hadn’t had that protection growing up.  From childhood she had been brought to her Grandfather’s solar each day and been drilled on what she’d learned, her grandfather probing and testing her, correcting her when she got an answer wrong, and encourage her to extend herself when she got the answer correct.  She’d learned how to see things from the point of view of others, and how to read other people’s reactions.

 

“It’s a good idea, to try and see things from other’s point of view.  It makes you appreciate how fortunate you are, and it also prepares you should the tables turn and you find yourself in a similar situation.” Lyra advised.

 

Myrcella nodded, “I should invite Lady Sansa to have tea with myself and my Septa, and be her friend.  We are going to be sisters soon, after all.”

 

“An excellent suggestion,” Lyra encouraged, before she ruffled Tommen’s hair affectionately, “and what about you?” she asked, “how are you, my prince?’

 

“Is it true, what they’re saying…that the war will come to King’s Landing, that Uncle Stannis is going to come and kill us all?”

 

Lyra paused before responding, not wanting to lie to the little boy, but not wanting to scare him either, “it’s possible, but your brother and mother and uncle Tyrion…they won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

“And you,” Myrcella added thoughtfully, “we’ve got you to help protect us as well.  I remember watching you train with Uncle Jaime.  I’ve never seen a girl that had learned to fight with a sword, other than you.”

 

“Yes, and me…” Lyra nodded, “and I promise that I will do everything I can to make sure neither of you get hurt.”

 

Tommen tightened his grip around Lyra in response to her words, and she rubbed his back soothingly.

 

“Why don’t you show me your favourite places in these gardens,” she suggested, “it has been so long since I’ve been in the city, I confess I can’t remember my way around.”

 

“Alright, and then I can introduce you to my cats,” enthused Tommen, distracted from his fear about the looming war by the prospect of playing with his beloved kittens.  Myrcella nodded brightly, and Lyra let herself be led off, deeper into the gardens, enjoying being in the company of her cousins.

 

The war was looming, but she refused to let it rule her life, nor the lives of her younger cousins. 

 

A day would come, soon, when there would be no happiness to be found, but they had not reached that day…Not yet.


	4. Sansa I

The sounds of the waves lapping against the shore and cliffs of King’s Landing was peaceful, and some would say relaxing.  Lady Sansa Stark, however, could not relax.  If she relaxed she might end up dead, beheaded on the steps of the great Sept of Baelor just like her father, or perhaps even worse, married to Joffrey.

 

Normally she was left alone when she was out of the gardens.  The other Lords and ladies avoided her, lest they be seen as plotting treachery with the treasonous daughter of the traitor Eddard Stark.  Of course, Joffrey would sometimes join her in the gardens, trying to scare and humiliate her even further, but lately it hadn’t happened as much.  She’d heard rumours of Lord Tyrin offering up some other outlets for Joffrey’s lust for violence, and while Sansa felt sick with herself for even thinking it, she was grateful for the reprieve.   

 

Sansa sat on a low bench, gazing silently out at the sea, when she heard footsteps approaching.  Gathering herself, she turned to face whoever it was.  If she was lucky, it would only be Lord Baelish or Shae, and if she were unlucky, it would be someone else, and if the Gods were really out to punish her, it would be Joffrey.

 

It was neither Lord Baelish, nor Shae, nor Joffrey, but the young woman who arrived at court the previous day…Lady Lyra Lannister, the daughter of Ser Jaime Lannister and Lady Daecy Mormont…the young Cub, as she was known.  Sansa had watched from the gallery as Lyra had arrived at court, greeting Joffrey and enthusing about how great a king he was going to be.

 

“Lady Lyra,” Sansa quickly rose to her feet and curtseyed deeply.  She was a member of Joffrey’s family…the niece of Cersei, but Sansa had little to no information about her, just the few rumours that had drifted around the court after her appearance, and they had been from unreliable sources.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Lyra curtseyed just as deeply, “It is a pleasure to meet you.  I’ve heard stories about your grace and beauty, but they do not do you justice.”

 

“I have heard stories about you as well, lady Lyra,” Sansa replied truthfully, “They say that you spent your childhood learning from Lord Tywin, and that your education was vast.  You are fortunate to have your grandfather so attentive to your education.”

 

Lyra nodded, “yes, I was fortunate,” she agreed, “my grandfather cares a great deal about his legacy, you see, and, at the moment, I am the only one of his grandchildren to carry the Lannister name.  It is the only reason I was gifted with his…attention.”

 

“I see,” Sansa offered, “Are you enjoying your time in King’s Landing.”

 

“It is nice to see my cousins again.  I spent the evening talking with Myrcella last night, we have not seen each other in so long, it was lovely to catch up with her.”

 

“Myrcella and Tommen are wonderful people,” Sansa agreed, “and my beloved Joffrey too, of course, and the Queen.”

 

“Yes, they all are,” Lyra nodded, walking a little closer to Sansa.  Sansa was not sure if Lyra had believed her comment about Joffrey and Cersei, but nothing more was said.

 

Lyra paused before speaking again.  “I…I’m sorry about what happened to your father.  No…no matter his crimes, alleged or otherwise, he shouldn’t have been treated as he was.”

 

Sansa blinked at Lyra’s words, glancing back to ensure they were alone.  She could not see anyone, but that did not mean they were free of Varys’ little birds.

 

“My father was a traitor,”

 

“and yet he’d faithfully served Robert Baratheon for years.” Lyra pointed out, “I even met your father once…when I was very young.  I barely remember it, but he seemed kind.”

 

“When was this?” Sansa asked curiously.  Lyra was younger than her by some months, and Eddard Stark rarely had travelled so far from Winterfell.

 

“Just after the Greyjoy Rebellion.  Once the rebellion was defeated he stopped briefly at Casterly Rock so his men could rest before he took them back north.  He cared about his people, more than a lot of the other Lords.”

 

“He did,” Sansa solemnly agreed, although she was surprised that Lyra was talking about Eddard Stark so openly.  No-one else had done so since his death, especially not near Sansa.

 

“I am sorry…to hear about how you have been treated since…since you’ve come to King’s Landing,” Lyra offered, and Sansa was surprised at the sincerity in the younger girl’s voice.  Doubts and questions were beginning to develop in Sansa’s mind, wondering why on earth Lyra was being so kind.  Had she been sent to spy on her by Joffrey, hoping to catch her out speaking poorly on her betrothed, or perhaps Cersei had been the one to send the younger girl in some plot to further mistreat and isolate Sansa.

 

“My beloved Joffrey is free to treat me how he likes.  He is the king.  I am fortunate to not have been set aside by because of the actions of my family.”

 

Lyra bit her lip slightly and nodded, saying nothing more.  She walked a bit closer to the stone ledge, gazing out at the sea.

 

There was a pause, and Sansa wondered if Lyra was going to leave her alone, if the younger girl had gotten what she wanted, as Lannisters had a way of doing.  Robb held Lyra’s father hostage, just like the Lannisters held Sansa hostage, and Sansa wondered how Lyra felt about that, if she was angry.  The rumours about Lyra that Sansa had heard…about how, despite being a girl Jaime Lannister had himself taught his daughter how to wield a sword…and Lyra had inherited no small part of her father’s talent with a blade.  Lyra wasn’t openly carrying a weapon, but there could easily be a knife hidden beneath the folds of Lyra’s red dress.  Did Lyra mean Sansa harm?  Were her kind words just a rouse to get Sansa’s guard down so there would be less of a struggle?

 

“What is the North like?” Lyra asked, breaking the silence.  Sansa startled, having not expected the question.

 

“Pardon, lady Lyra?” Sansa offered.

 

“Forgive me for startling you,” Lyra apologised, “I was just wondering…about the North.  I’ve always wanted to see it…I was so disappointed when I wasn’t allowed to go with Father and Uncle Tyrion and the others up to Winterfell.  Now that war has broken out…I fear I will never get the chance.”

 

“The North…” Sansa murmured, thinking of her home…of Winterfell, of her brothers and Arya, her mother…her father, of Septa Mordane, of Lady, of Jeyne, and Maester Luwin, and everyone else that she’d either left behind, or who had been killed since she’d come to King’s Landing.  Sansa’s face must have betrayed her thoughts, because she felt Lyra’s hand rest gently on her arm.

 

“You can choose not to say, if you like…I can understand if it’s a painful subject for you,” Lyra offered quietly,

 

“No, not it’s fine,” Sansa shook her head, “The North…it’s quiet…peaceful. It’s so vast and endless…and yet, sparsely populated.  I used to think it was boring, I dreamed of coming south…but…but I miss it.” 

 

Lyra said nothing, but she looked up at Sansa encouragingly, so Sansa kept talking, finding her words coming easier than they had since her father had been killed.

 

“Even in the height of summer it snows at Winterfell.  When we were children we used to play in it, in the courtyard, or in the Godswood.  I…I stopped, because it wasn’t ladylike, but the others kept doing it.  I remember how they used to laugh…even Jon…and he rarely laughed.  Only Arya could make him smile…genuinely smile.”

 

“My Grandfather always speaks poorly of the Northerners…says that they might be good fighters, but there is little else they’re good at.”

 

“The Northerners…even the Lords…their halls are not like any in the South.  It’s a hard life, in the North.  Things that Southern Lords do…they have no importance in the North…other than hunting or training.  My father… the other Northern Lords used to joke and say he was too Southern because he was fostered in the Vale and married a southern lady.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Lyra frowned.

 

Sansa pursed her lips and looked around once again to check if they were alone, “Northerners are a stubborn lot, they have to be, in order to survive, and they don’t take well to outsiders or Southerners.  They don’t forget an insult.  The North Remembers, is what they say.”

 

“What…what about Bear Island, have you ever been there?”

 

“No,” Sansa replied, “Although I have met Lady Mormont before.  She came to pay her respects when my younger siblings were born.  Bear Island…it’s one of the most difficult places to live in the north, between the Wildlings and the Iron Islanders sending their raiding ships.”

 

Lyra nodded in agreement, “my Uncle Tyrion told me much the same.  He said that because little grows on the island in terms of food the men all go and fish for months on end, and it’s left to the women to run the households…and protect the Island.”

 

“I heard that your Lady Mother was as skilled as any man, and that she fought alongside the Northern army during Robert’s Rebellion,” Sansa told Lyra, remembering how Arya had obsessed over Dacey Mormont when she was younger, just like how young Arya had devoured information about Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen, or Queen Nymeria. 

 

“My father used to tell me that she used to tease him about that…how she killed more men during Robert’s Rebellion than him.”

 

But he killed the mad King, the man he was sworn to protect, Sansa couldn’t help but think.  She remembered what her father used to say about the Kingslayer, and about how he was one of the most dishonourable men the in the seven kingdoms…save for perhaps his father Lord Tywin. 

 

Lady Lyra seemed to be also preoccupied in her thoughts, and there was another lengthy silence between them.  Lyra even turned and walked a little away from Sansa, gazing out at the sea over the low wall that surrounded the terrace where they stood.

 

“It’s calm out there, today,” Lyra offered, “back home, at Casterly Rock, the waves pound against the cliffs.  The rocks have claimed many an unsuspecting ship.  It’s not as bad as Shipbreaker Bay, or Storms End, from what I’ve been told, but here, at the capitol, the sea is calmer.  It is difficult to believe that the waters of the Blackwater hold such danger.”

 

Sansa frowned.  Surely the calm waters of the Blackwater held fewer perils than the more dangerous seas to the west, “Danger?” she questioned.

 

“Dragonstone, and the fleet of Stannis Baratheon,” Lyra offered by way of clarification

 

Sansa moved so that she stood beside Lyra, both of them gazing out across the bay, “surely Lord Stannis would not dare try to take King’s Landing.”

 

“He knows how to hold a castle to siege…he did it to Dragonstone at the end of Robert’s Rebellion,” Lyra reminded her, “and for most of the war he was on the other side of a Siege, but he held Storm End against the Tyrells and their bannermen.  Stannis is no fool, but he knows what he wants, and he will do whatever he thinks necessary in order to achieve his goal.”

 

“The Iron Throne.”

 

“It’s the war of the five kings, lady Sansa.  It’s not just your brother and Joffrey…it’s Stannis and Renly, and then there are the Greyjoys as well, we can’t forget them.”

 

“How do you know so much about this?” Sansa asked, genuinely curious.  Lyra obviously knew far more than other ladies their age

 

“My Grandfather sent me regular updates, after he left to go to war, and my great uncle Kevan made sure to keep me informed of what was going on.  My Grandfather refuses to see Uncle Tyrion as his heir, and with my father captured by his enemy…I’m the best option he has.  If something should happen to him…he doesn’t want me caught out.  He always used to say that I was brighter than my father, but not as proud about it as Aunt Cersei or Uncle Tyrion.”

 

“Why are you telling me all this?  I can’t be trusted…I am the daughter of traitors, the sister of a traitor.”

 

“You are also betrothed to my cousin, and therefore you are going to be the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  Don’t you think you should know a bit about what’s going on in the Seven Kingdoms when you’re about to start being its Queen?”

 

Sansa opened her mouth, but she had no words in reply.  Lyra was right…she was Joffrey’s betrothed, destined to be his Queen, and despite how the mere prospect of being married to Joffrey made her stomach churn anxiously, she did need to know what was going on in Westeros outside of King’s landing.

 

And it wasn’t like anyone else would tell her any of this sort of information…not until Stannis’ ships were visible in the distance and they absolutely had to.

 

Of course, Sansa had no idea what she could do to improve this.  She could not approach someone and ask question…it would get back to Joffrey and Cersei, and they would take it as her trying to stir up some sort of trouble.  The only ones she could ask were Shae, and Shae herself was limited in what she knew, and Littlefinger…and Sansa wasn’t sure if this was important enough to disturb the master of coin.

 

Still, it was something she needed to work on.


	5. Lyra II

The late afternoon sun shone through the windows into Lyra’s room, brining warmth with it.  Lyra relaxed in her chair and turned the page of the book she was reading, borrowed from the library in the Red Keep.  On the table beside her was a platter of fruit, and as Lyra read she popped a grape into her mouth, savouring the flavour of the sweet fruit as it seemed to explode in her mouth when she bit down on it.

 

Lyra blinked and hesitated as she turned another page as she heard a wail and furious sobbing in the distance.  The door to her chambers was closed, but her window was wide open, a gentle breeze blowing the curtains, so noise still drifted into the room from the outside, despite the stone wall and tapestries that lined them.  Lyra waited, but didn’t hear anything further, so she returned to her reading.  All seemed quiet and calm, or at least, as quiet and calm as King’s Landing ever got, and Lyra allowed herself to relax and get absorbed into her book.

 

Soon her fruit platter was finished, and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky.  It would soon be time to get ready for dinner.  Lyra had made plans to eat with Tyrion that evening, as she had dined with Queen Cersei and her children on a number of occasions since her arrival in the capitol, and she didn’t want to push things too much with Cersei and Joffrey.

 

It was no secret to Lyra that the King’s mother didn’t like her, and only tolerated her presence in the Red Keep because Tywin had ordered her to.  It had always been that way, although it seemed worse now. 

 

Maybe it because of King Robert’s death, although Lyra wasn’t sure what difference that would make.  She knew that Cersei hadn’t liked Robert, and she certainly hadn’t loved him as a wife is supposed to love her husband.  Lyra was willing to put it down to the combined stress of the war, and the strain of trying to manage Joffrey now that he had a crown on his head, which would be exhausting enough for anybody.

 

When she was younger she’d once asked her Uncle Tyrion about it…why her Aunt hadn’t liked her.  She’d only been very young at the time, and Tyrion had looked at her sadly.

 

“Cersei…she is misguided in many ways.  She blames others for things they have no control over.  She hates me because our mother died giving birth to me.”

 

“Is that why she doesn’t like me too, because my mother died after I was born?”

 

Tyrion had shaken his head, “good Gods, no, sweet child, no.   Growing up she and Jaime…all they had were each other, but now she has to share him with you.  She is jealous, that is all.”

 

Back then Lyra had accepted Tyrion’s words, and nothing more was ever said on the subject.  Lyra had never forgotten the conversation though, despite the number of years that passed since it had taken place.  She’d learned to be cautious around Cersei, to keep her distance, as much as propriety permitted.  There couldn’t be a perceived rift in the family…especially not now that the country was already at war with itself.

 

Lyra jumped, startled out of her thoughts, when her chamber door burst open and Myrcella stumbled through, her hair in disarray, tears streaking down her red cheeks as she sobbed.  Lyra jumped to her feet as Myrcella ran across the room to her.

 

Lyra caught her cousin in her arms, holding her in a tight embrace, “Myrcella, whatever is the matter?’

 

Myrcella shook her head and continued to sob, clutching onto Lyra as if Lyra was the only thing holding her upright.  Lyra rubbed the younger girls back, soothingly.

 

“Shhh, hush, it will be all right…whatever it is.”

 

“Uncle…Uncle Tyrion…he…” Myrcella broke off again.  Lyra’s mind started to spin.  Had something happened to Uncle Tyrion.  Had he done something to anger Joffrey and been arrested…or executed on the spot?  Had he finally decided that he was done with being abused by Joffrey and gone to join Stannis or Robb Stark?

 

“What about Uncle Tyrion?”  
  
“He’s going to send me away,” Myrcella wailed.

 

Lyra froze, sure that she had misheard her cousin, “he did what?”

 

“He’s going to send me to live in Dorne.  Once day I’ll be betrothed to and marry Prince Trystane.”

 

“Dorne?  You’re sure…Dorne?”

 

“Yes, Dorne.” Myrcella looked at Lyra, her green eyes shining with tears, although Myrcella seemed to have regained some of her composure.  She was the smartest of Cersei’s children, in Lyra’s opinion…not as proud or aloof as Joffrey, nor as sweet and naïve as Tommen.

 

“You…you’re not surprised?”

 

“I didn’t know,” Lyra replied quickly and honestly, “but I suspected this day was coming.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Well, I do admit I thought I would be the one sent off first,” Lyra shrugged, moving away from Myrcella to pour them both glasses of water, “but you’re more important, so it makes sense to arrange a marriage for you first. Surely you knew this day would come.”

 

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Myrcella took the glass that Lyra offered.  Lyra wordlessly guided Myrcella to a chair.

 

“You’re a princess, Myrcella. Princess Myrcella of House Baratheon, daughter of King Robert of House Barathoen, First of his Name.  You are the sister of King Joffrey of House Baratheon, First of his Name, long may he reign.  Something like this was always going to happen.  To Joffrey, To Tommen, and to you.  It has been happening for hundreds of years, or longer, and it will continue happening long after we’re all gone.  Whichever family you were married into would become an important ally, even if the country wasn’t at war…and the way things are…we’re definitely at war.  Joffrey needs Allies.  Besides…no one expects you to marry the moment you get to Dorne.  It will be a few years yet.”

 

“Dorne…it’s so far away though.”

 

“It’s much closer than Winterfell,” Lyra reminded Myrcella of the position Sansa was in, “It’s much warmer too.  I confess, I’m a little jealous.  The Watergardens…Sunspear…they are said to be beautiful.  You will be able to bathe and swim in the warm waters of the Narrow Sea, even when winter comes, and I am sure you will never be short of companionship.  Prince Oberyn has numerous daughters around our age, or thereabouts, that you will be able to talk to and get to know.”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“You will be safer in Dorne, Myrcella,” Lyra added seriously, “King’s Landing…it could be attacked any day now, and if the city falls do you really think Stannis will show mercy?  He believes you to be a bastard, and even if he doesn’t kill you, he won’t be so considerate in arranging a marriage.  In Dorne you will never want for anything.”

 

“Uncle Stannis wouldn’t…kill me, would he?”

 

“During war people do things that others would never expect them to do,” Lyra reminded Myrcella, “My father killed Aerys, the man he was sworn to protect…and look at what happened to Elia Martell and her children, in this very castle.”

 

Myrcella lost what little colour in her cheeks, “I didn’t think that the Martells liked us.”

 

“They’ll have a beautiful Princess to marry one of their sons to, it’s more than any of the other competing Kings can offer them, except for Stannis, and I can’t imagine him marrying Shireen off any time soon.  Besides, while Elia and her children were killed by Lannister men, Stannis fought against the Targaryens and Martell alliance too…and Robb Stark’s father did as well, and I’m sure that Renly would have gotten involved as well, had he not been too young.

 

Myrcella sat, her head bowed, holding her glass of water in her hands.  Lyra sighed, and crouched before her cousin, raising her hand and gently lifting Myrcella’s chin.

 

“I know that you’re scared, and I would be too, if I was the one who was going, but it won’t be too bad.  I promise.  Living in Dorne…it will have some advantages…things you have to put up with here…they won’t be there.”

 

Lyra left it unsaid, but she saw from the look in Myrcella’s eyes that her cousin knew what she was talking about.  Joffrey.

 

“I will miss you, and mother, and Tommen and Uncle Tyrion, and Uncle Jaime and Grandfather.”

 

“You can write, I am sure that the Maester will let you send ravens…but I am sure that once you get settled, you will be having too much fun to think much of us back here in King’s Landing.  You might be able to come and visit too, maybe for when Joffrey marries Sansa, or when Tommen gets married, or maybe even when I get married to…whoever I get married to, and your mother…there is no way that anyone is going to be able to stop her from being there when you and Prince Trystane are married, not even Stannis’ entire fleet.”

 

A small smile spread across Myrcella’s face at the thought, and Lyra mirrored her cousin’s expression.

 

“You are a Princess…don’t show them your fear, show them your confidence, show them your strength, show them your kindness.  Do that, and they will love you, just as we do.”

 

Myrcella set her glass of water, dropping gracefully to her knees, and she hugged Lyra, who returned the embrace.

 

“Thank you, Lyra…I…I just needed to talk to someone.  Mother was so angry, she’s gone to talk to Uncle Tyrion…well…yell at is probably more accurate.”

 

“She loves you, she doesn’t want you to go.”

 

“But she can’t,” Myrcella sighed, “you were right…it was always going to happen…I would get married and leave the capital, be a lady and everything that it entails.”

 

“Dorne…it isn’t a bad option.”

 

“No…it isn’t” Myrcella agreed with a smile


	6. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King's Landing Riot scene. Alot of this draws heavily from the original script

The hate radiated from Cersei in waves as the royal party stood along the shore of king’s landing, watching as Myrcella was rowed out to the ship that would take her to her new home in Dorne.  Cersei’s hatred didn’t bother Tyrion, Cersei had always hated him after all, but what hurt more than any physical blow was the way Myrcella had sobbed as she’d been seated on her boat, how she’d looked back, still sobbing, obviously not wanting to leave the capitol.

 

She would be better off in Dorne…safer from Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark, safe from Joffrey too.  At least Renly was no longer a threat, although Tyrion shuddered at the rumours that surrounded the death of the younger of Robert’s brothers…of black magic and shadow monsters.  It was known that Stannis had recruited a Red Priestess to his cause, and that his Queen worshipped the Red God, and that sacrifices burned most nights along the shores of Dragonstone.  The flames of the pyres could be seen from the mainland.

 

Cersei, however, would never forgive him for this perceived betrayal, but Tyrion didn’t care.  He couldn’t do anything about Tommen, he was both too young and his brother’s heir.  If they were not at war then he might have been sent somewhere to foster…the Vale, with Robin Arryn, maybe, or with the Starks.  Robert had once confessed to Tyrion during a drinking session between the pair that he’d planned on sending Tommen north when he was older to stay with Eddard and to get his younger son away from Cersei and Tywin’s influence.

 

Now, however, that wasn’t going to happen.  At least, in Dorne, Myrcella might be safe…and with her going there, and being betrothed to Trystane Martell, it would mean that the Martells and their bannermen would be allied with King Joffrey, and not those opposed to him.

 

Looking at the assembled members of the court, Tyrion let his gaze linger on Lyra and Tommen, standing side by side, Tommen holding onto his cousin’s hand as tears rolled down his face and he watched his sister be taken away.  Lyra’s face was solemn and grim, and Tyrion was momentarily reminded of his father.  When had Lyra, a girl of 13 years, begun to look so much like her grandfather?

 

Joffrey scowled at his younger brother, “You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother. Princes don't cry” he told the younger boy scathingly.  


“I saw you cry,” Sansa offered quietly.  


Lyra obviously heard the comment, because her gaze whipped up towards Sansa in surprise, biting her lip to conceal her amusement.  Cersei was too busy gazing forlornly out at the boat and stewing in anger to have heard the comment.  Sansa however, looked frightened at her own boldness.

 

“Did you say something, my lady?” Joffrey asked, something dangerous in his voice.  


“My little brother cried when I left Winterfell,” Sansa replied quickly and evenly, as if she’d never spoken against Joffrey  
  
Joffrey scoffed, “So?”  
  
“It seems a normal thing,” Sansa shrugged, as if she were simply commenting on the weather, or the quality of a woman’s dress or a man’s sword.  
  
Joffrey visibly bristled, “Is your little brother a prince?”

 

“No,” Sansa replied, although Tyrion knew that, technically, Sansa’s younger brothers were both princes now, and Sansa a Princess, with Robb declared King of the North.  Sansa’s answer, was by far the safer option, and well, it wasn’t like any of the Stark boys had held royal titles back when Sansa had left Winterfell.  
  
“Not really relevant then, is it? Come, Dog,” Joffrey beckoned to Sandor, and turned leaving the rest of the group behind.

 

Looking back at Cersei, Tyrion decided it would be best if he left his sister be for the moment.  She would be well protected by the guards that weren’t accompanying the rest of the party.

 

“Come along, Tommen…Lady Sansa.”

 

Tommen, Lyra and Sansa all heeded his instruction, silently following Joffrey and the Hound up the stairs away from the dock.  Together they began to walk in a procession back towards the Keep.  Tyrion looked at the surrounding crowd warily, an uneasy feeling building in his gut.

 

The people of Kings Landing were starving, and unrest was growing with every passing day…anger and resentment building towards the fortunate ones who lived in the Red Keep, with their fine food and clothing.  People lined the street they were travelling along, and Tyrion found the Hound meeting his gaze.  Although neither of them said anything, Tyrion knew the message that Sandor Clegane was trying to give.  He didn’t like the situation any more than Tyrion did.

 

People in the crowd began to call out.  Some of the things couldn’t be clearly heard, over the noise of the crowd, but some of them were loud and clear.

 

“Hail Joffrey! Hail to the King. Seven blessings on you, Your Grace.”

 

“Murderer! Bastard!”

 

“All hail the King.”

 

“He’s no King!”

 

“He's a bastard!”

 

“Please, Your Grace, we're hungry.”

 

Tyrion turned to one of the guards accompanying them.  Tommen didn’t need to be here for this, it wasn’t safe, and while Tyrion knew that Joffrey and himself were the focus of the peoples ire, there was a good chance Tomen could escape without being noticed.

 

“Get the Prince back to the Keep, now!” he ordered sternly. 

 

The guards quickly nodded, and two of them gently took Tommen by the arms.

 

“Yes my Lord.  Come, quickly.”

 

Tommen shot a frightened look back at Tyrion, and then across at Lyra, before he let himself be led away to safety.  Tyrion moved beside Lyra.

 

“You should get away from here.”

 

“I’ll be noticed,” Lyra shook her head as she began loosening the strings of her small coin purse.  Around them the crowd’s mood was worsening.

 

“Please, Your Grace, give us some food!” A woman cried out.

 

A man chimed in “Bread, your grace, please!”  


Lyra pulled a handful of gold and silver coins from her purse, emptying it, before she threw the money out into the crowd.  Some of the people fell upon it, and Tyrion could hear fighting breaking out over the coins.  Most of the crowd, however, remained focused on Joffrey.  Joffrey held his head high, nose in the air, ignoring the calls of his people, their pleas for help.

 

Tyrion didn’t notice the projectile flying through the air until it landed with a splat on Joffrey’s face with enough force to cause him to stumble and double over.  The world seemed to freeze for a moment as the cow pat slid slowly off Joffrey’s face and landed on the stone pavement.  Very quietly, Tyrion heard Lyra murmur beside him.

 

“Oh Shit.”

 

Tyrion opened his mouth to make a clever response, but everything seemed to speed up at that point as Joffrey realised what had happened.  He was surrounded by his Kingsguard, who had all drawn their swords and closed ranks, ready to defend their king.

 

“Who threw that?” demanded Joffrey, “I want the man who threw that. Find who did that and bring him to me!” he shrieked   


The Hound held Joffrey back against him, as if preventing Joffrey from leaping into the crowds himself hunting for the one responsible.

 

“Hold on,” Called one of the guards.

 

“Hold them back” another replied

 

The Kingsguard pushed forwards, and everything turned to hell as the dissented crowd began to riot.  Nothing could be heard over the chaos of people screaming and shouting as the guards tried to get them all to safety.  Tyrion was jostled by the crush of people, but he quickly out himself between some guards to flank and protect him.  Although some members of the party were not so lucky.  Tyrion quickly lost sight of Lady Sansa, and he hoped to the Seven that the girl had found her way to safety, although he doubted it.  Starks seemed to attract trouble, even more than he himself did.

 

Lyra wasn’t far from him, her eyes wide and fearful as the crowds closed in.    


“Just kill them.  Kill them all!” Joffrey ordered his guards.  Tyrion caught sight of Cersei, who had finally caught up with them, surrounded by her own guards.  He knew, from the look on her face, that she had heard Joffrey’s words, and was just as alarmed, but not surprised, by them as he was.

 

“Move,” Tyrion ordered the guards, “Move!”

 

Obviously sick of his charge’s behaviour, the Hound grabbed Joffrey around the middle and began dragging him along, the rest of the royal party following along.

 

“Pull back” one of the guards yelled over the yells and cries of the people, screaming for their King’s blood, for him to be torn to pieces and fed to the dogs, and other, less pleasant things.

 

“What are you doing,” Joffrey complained, struggling against the Hound’s firm hold, “I want those people executed.”

 

“And they want the same for you” growled the Hound.  Tyrion pushed forwards, only to turn when he heard the people of King’s Landing screaming triumphantly.  They’d managed to pull over, or knock down, one of the guards, and were proceeding to literally rip his body apart.  Lyra, trapped on the other side of the body, had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as the crowd cheered.

 

“Where’s Sansa?” Tyrion called over the noise, but no-one could hear him

 

“Through the door,” called a guard.

 

“Come on,” another replied, tugging on Tyrion’s shoulder. As the crowd closed in.  It was too much for Meryn Trant, who began to swing his sword, cutting down three people with one swing.

 

“Protect the King,” he yelled as the crowd screamed in anger at the violence against him.  Another guard, the one standing beside Lyra, fell to the ground with a clatter, felled by a thrown rock.  Lyra bent down and drew the guard’s sword from it’s scabbard, before rising back to her full height, her hand tight around the sword’s grip, although she kept it pointed downwards.   


“Fall back, Keep him safe,” another member of the kingsguard yelled.  The Hound shoved Joffrey towards Meryn Trant, who guided him to the safety offered by the gated doorway that led to a safe passage back to the Keep, while the Hound began to fight off the angry crowd. 

 

With the guards focusing on protecting Joffrey, Tyrion made his own way to safety, turning at the doorway so he could keep track of the rest of the group.  Sansa was out of sight, although he could still see some of the other maidens who had accompanied the Royal party to see off Princess Myrcella.  Lyra was not far away, holding the people at bay with her borrowed sword, although she wasn’t using it against the people…unlike the Hound, who was cutting people down freely.

 

Cersei was nearly to safety when she was grabbed by her arm by one of the rioters…a large man with a rather mean look on his face, and she shrieked in terror.  Before any of the guards could get there, however, Lyra was in front of her Aunt, sword raised.

 

“Let her go, and I won’t use this.”

 

The man laughed, “A little girl like you?” he spat, “You wouldn’t even know which end to use.  I bet you would be even more fun than some old Queen.”

 

The man let go of Cersei, who stumbled to safety, breathing heavily as she leant on the wall beside Tyrion.  Lyra struggled against the man holding her, before she brought the sword up.  Tyrion couldn’t see, at first, where the sword made contact…but he knew the moment that the man’s facial expression changed…his eyes widening almost comically in surprise as his hands dropped from Lyra’s body.  Lyra stumbled backwards, towards safety, but then she stopped, just standing there watching.

 

Now that Lyra had moved Tyrion could see the rapidly spreading red stain on the man’s filthy tunic, although he couldn’t see Lyra’s face.  The man dropped to his knees, before he collapsed, face first, onto the pavement at Lyra’s feet.  The sword slipped free of Lyra’s lax hand, falling to the ground beside the man.

 

“Lyra” Tyrion yelled.  She didn’t respond, so he called again, even louder, “Lyra!”

 

It was enough, and Lyra seemed to startle, turning and looking over her shoulder towards Tyrion.  Her eyes were wide and shocked, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

 

“Get in here,” Tyrion ordered, and Lyra stumbled to obey, too shocked to do otherwise. The few straggling guards helped her through the doorway, and the moment she was in the room she slid down the wall wordlessly.

 

“Are you hurt?” Tyrion asked her urgently, crouching down and glancing over her body, checking for any signs of blood of injury.  Lyra shook her head, her breath coming in soft pants.  Tyrion grabbed the attention of one of the other ladies… a Lannister cousin from Lannisport.

 

“Look after her,” he ordered.  The lady nodded, although Tyrion doubted it was because he asked, but rather because it was Lyra…the daughter of Jaime Lannister, that needed aid.

 

Satisfied that Lyra was safe, Tyrion strode towards Joffrey angrily.

 

“Traitors,” Joffrey was yelling, “I’ll have their heads.  


Tyrion shook his head, “You blind, bloody fool.”

 

‘”You can’t insult me,’ Joffrey gasped, “I am the King.”

 

“You know, we’ve had vicious kings and we've had idiot kings, but I don't know if we've ever been cursed with a vicious idiot for a king.” Tyrion continued, glaring up at Joffrey.  


“You can't,” protested Joffrey.  
  
Tyrion huffed in amusement, “oh, I can, I am.”  
  
“They attacked me!” Joffrey gestured towards the street.  Outside the noise of the riot was still audible.  
  
Tyrion rolled his eyes at his nephew’s dramatics, “They threw a cow pie at you, so you decided to kill them all? They're starving, you fool. All because of a war you started.  
  
“You're talking to a king!” Shouted Joffrey, breaking off when Tyrion slapped him across his face, before he held the hand responsible in front of the king’s eyes.

 

“And now I've struck a king. Did my hand fall from my wrist? Where is the Stark girl?”  


Joffrey shrugged uncaringly, “let them have her,” he scoffed.  
  
Tyrion barely restrained himself from shaking Joffrey’s shoulders at the boy’s stupidity, King or not, “If she dies, you'll never get your Uncle Jaime back. You owe him quite a bit, you know.” Tyrion reminded his nephew, before he turned towards Meryn Trant, hoping that they would find Sansa Stark before she was killed, or worse.

 

Sansa Stark’s wellbeing was the only thing keeping Jaime alive, after all.


End file.
